To die for
by Amariela
Summary: "It wasn't like he hadn't been shot a hundred times before but right now he wasn't sure for whose life he feared for anymore". Morbid story of love blossoming where it should be too dry for anything other than hate to grow. Price/Gaz, Price/Soap, Soap/Ghost
1. Prelude

Prelude to To Die For

_You often meet your fate on the path you take to avoid it._

_ -French proverb_

_British military recruitment office, London early 2002_

_The office was crowded. Probably had been ever since 9/11. That was why he was here... well, mostly. _

_He was here for serving his country, fighting for freedom and killing those desert niggers. Someone said, if you can't find a reason to live for, then find a one to die for. And now he had found a one, really had._

_The bloke beside him was cursing for how damn long they had to wait. _

_'Yo', he poked the bloke next to him, 'no rush. Not like they'd run out of talebani before we get there.'_

_'Cheers to that, mate. Where you from?'_

_'Manchester, you?' _

_'Up north, Scotland. Kevin Sparks,' the man spoke, offering his hand, 'might as well add Captain to it.'_

_'Simon Riley,' He laughed, shaking the mans hand, cocky son a of a bitch, wasn't he?_

_'Well then lieutenant Riley, fancy a beer after?' the man asked when he was called in for a interview._

_'Sure cap,' he joked before heading in the instructors office._

_He liked the quy. He definitely liked the guy._

* * *

_SAS base, 2006_

_'Got you, you bloody bastard!' he exclaimed cheerily. The sound echoed in the empty computer room._

_'The fact you can hack the game doesn't make you a better player, asshole.'_

_'It does, 'cause I won. Bad loser, much?'_

_'Am not!'_

_'Well don't get your skirt all wrinkled up!'_

_'It's kilt, you prat!'_

_'Man-skirt-'_

_The resulting scuffle led them both on the floor, wrestling for the right to say the last word. Brawling stopped abruptly when he found himself pinned to floor and staring up to the cold blue eyes of his mate, merely inches from his._

'_Sparks-' he started. This was getting difficult._

'_Shut up, Riley.'_

_He did shut up but it didn't stop him from closing the gap between them. _

_The kiss that followed was the best thing his adult life had ever offered him._

* * *

_Commander's office, Task Force 141 base, Early 2011_

_He sat just outside the office, waiting and eyeing up the surroundings. He hated the desert, that one was for sure- the concrete made base around him was probably going to end up on the hate list too- but it was far away at least. _

_What further away from SAS, Manchester, everyone and everything, the fucking better. _

_Then, suddenly, the office door was slammed shut, with force enough to shake the doorframes. Out rode an angry mohawked man with captain's stripes. _

_For a fleeting moment he believed that maybe his sanity finally abandoned him. He forced his throat to swallow around the lump that rose instantly. Apart from the haircut, it was like his past had risen from death. But Sparks was dead by the hands he had crossed over his chest. And men as dead as Sparks, he remembered the extra round of bullets he put to the bastards chest, didn't come back._

_'You're coming with me, FNG,' the man commanded, Scottish accent heavy on the words. _

_What were the odds of him having to land with another goddamned highlander in the middle of some god forbidden desert? Especially when having to ever hear that accent again was one of reasons he wanted to get away._

_'Aye,' he forced, closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing. _

_'Aye, _what_?'_

_'Aye, _sir_.' he sighed._

_'You got a call sing back in SAS?' _

_'Ghost,' he paused before hesitantly adding, 'sir'._

_'What the hell kind of a name is Ghost?' the man exclaimed. _

_'Name for a man like me, sir,' was all he could come up with. _

_'Whatever, FNG,' the captain huffed. _

_'Would a shot whiskey stop you callin' me that, _sir_?' he threw back, striding to keep up with captain who was practically flying through the corridors unfamiliar to him._

_'Bribery, already? And what did I tell you about the chip?' the sparks look-a-like laughed. Was there no way to please this man? _

_Why did he even want to please the man?_

_'It's Scottish, sir,' remembering the accent, he tried._

_Thanks to Sparks, the piece of shit, who used to drank that Scottish crap, he never left anywhere without a bottle. And if he had to sacrifice his only bottle in order to get somewhere, then be it._

_'You got a good taste, _mate_, gotta give you that.' _

_He snickered. He had to admit, he kind of liked this man._

_He definitely liked this man._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

'_All is fair in love and war.'_

_-Jonh Lyly_

The ceiling fan rustled as it spun the air around in dim litted room. It wasn't really needed anyway since it was freezing outside. Lying on the uncomfortable bed, which had grown familiar after months of sleeping the same goddamned lumps under his sore back, he eyed the fan once more. It was no use in lying here, sleepless. With one last sigh, he crawled up from the bed and padded barefooted towards his clothes from the day before. Once clothed his eyes met a mirror on the wall and another sigh was emitted. He wasn't getting any younger... Finally fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his camo trousers pockets, he headed outside.

The deflating cold desert air hit his skin and he groaned softly. God, he had grown to hate this place alltogether. Taking a long, deep drag from his cigarette and feeling the nicotine rush in to his veins his eyes fell closed. Heaven only knew how much he missed being home in Glasgow. Mind wandering back to his sister, niece, real bed and a bathtub he scratched absentmindedly the mohawk covering the top of his head.

'Sir?'

The voice coming from behind startled him. He had been so occupied by the sudden homesickness that he missed the heavy footstepes and ruffling of clothes.

'Bloody hell, mate! Could you not scare me out like that?' he spoke shaking his head in manner or disapproval turning to face the familiar team member standing before him.

'Sorry, sir. I...' sudden hesitation laced the voice of 141 sergeant's on watch duty.

He wasn't exactly stupid. He was a captain for a reason and right now, his sense told him something wasn't completely right. Maybe it was the ungodly hour or the fact that he hadn't had any sleep but Meat looked like a six year old telling mommy what his big brother had done...

'Captain, I... I think something's up with Ghost'

'What do you mean?'

'He's at the north gate', gesturing the direction Meat continued, 'It... it looks like he's fighting. Sir, I really think-'

'Don't.' The captain said dropping his fag to ground and putting out with the tip of his boots. ' They don't pay you for thinking and besides I don't wanna hear it. And you just heard something worth checking from the south gate' He finished pointing south before heading north of the base, leaving the sergeant dumbfounded. Annoyed beyond belief, he gritted his teeth against the cold and swore under his breath. Where ever you went, what ever you did, as long as you stayed at the base, there was no getting away from these people.

'Roba' he whispered alerted. The sound laughter echoed in his ears.

'Good job on Sparks... so, English, are you ready for me now?' the Latin voice laughed again. He breathed through his balaclava heavily and the exhaled air vapored before his eyes. Perspiration glistered on his skin and he held his combat knife tighter. He could feel how close the Latin was... In one swift motion he was facing the opposite direction than just seconds before and slammed his knife towards Roba's chest. There was that laughter again... like he never managed to inflict any harm. The bastard never seemed to die. Without realizing though his sleep that he was observed from not so far, he continued his exhausting battle.

From a far he could see the fellow man's swift, practised and naturally graceful movements. Strong, mighty body flexed as the clearly visible muscles worked and another stab was executed perfectly leading to sure kill. The man was deadly merciless killing machine. He didn't think he himself wouldn't stand a chance against that fury-latched man fighting in the middle of the desert base. Only thing off was that he happened to be fighting against invisible enemies. The mohawked Scot had seen it before. The past horrors catched everyone up every now and then, and with some people, like his second in command, it could get nastier. Having studied the sight from a far the captain could tell it had been going on for some time now, hours even. The lieutenant didn't exhaust easily, after all. The older man scratched his mohawk out of habit once again.

The slowing of the motions and the wobbly knees before him forced him back from his thoughts. The captain watched, securely hidden in shadows as the younger man collapsed to the cold desert floor, opting to give it some more time before checking up on the sleepwalker. He hated to admit it but the younger man had wormed his way into his good books long ago.

As he started towards his fellow soldier, something caught his eye and by instinct stopped his feet from taking another step. A gun. The younger man drew a gun.

Something was way more off than what he thought from the start.

A thought occurred to the captain. If Ghost was going to start shooting at his nightmares, he himself could end up a with an accidental bullet hole through his brain. And even more disturbingly Meat would do his duty and put a bullet through Ghost... and he wasn't sure if could take that. Running through the scenarios and options the captain stared at the younger man as he suddenly unlocked the gun and slowly draw it to his own temple.

'Dad... please? Please don't... please?' An involuntary sob escaped his lips once he felt another ghost emerge from the shadows and replace Roba. His fingers faltered on the trigger as he shuddered at the voice of his father.

'You fucking useless wanker! You cunt! You can't even bloody die!' The Englishman yelled.

Listening the voice of his father, he gripped the gun tighter until his knuckles turned white.

'Do it, you lousy fuck. You lousy fag...' The voice of his father's spat.

'Ghost? Mate, it's me' The captain spoke softly from behind the other man to avoid startling the other. 'Ghost, c'mon... you ain't doing this. Give me the gun, mate'

The younger man shivered violently from being in the cold only clad in camo trousers. Even worse than being shirtless, the captain remarked, Ghost was barefooted.

'Simon?' The captain called stepping directly in front of the younger man and staring at his balaclava covered bowed head. Previous experiences taught him to know that the use of the younger man's birth name usually had a better effect than his call sign. After all, the lieutenant wasn't called by his name that often, mostly due to his unwillingness to share his name, or anything else for that matter, with anyone.

'Simon,' he called again praying for an answer, 'look at me, mate.'

It became clear that the man hidden behind the skull balaclava still hadn't snapped out of it. The older man sighed at the sight in front of him. It wasn't like he hadn't been shot a hundred times before but right now he wasn't sure for whose life he feared for anymore.

Slowly, hesitating, he placed a hand on the bare shoulder. Without the red-tinted sunglasses, the man looked different, definitely more human.

'Look at me'.

Nothing.

'For fuck's sake!' he yelled yanking the man up and slamming him into a nearby barracks wall.

Electric blue eyes searched the hazel orbs that were holding a tight stare towards the ground. The younger man, still utterly confused about his surroundings, refused to meet his gaze.

'Give me the gun, idiot'.

The death grip lessened and the gun was removed from his ice cold fingers by the captain. After securing the safety on the older man handed the gun back to his lieutenant with a heavy sigh. Finally, the hazel green tint eyes rose from the ground to meet the captain's gaze and focused. The eyes were filled with unshed tears and from a close, the captain noted how the balaclava clung to his face wet from crying.

Without really meaning to the captain placed his hand back where it had been only a moment ago, on the mans shoulder, eyes locking with the hazel ones. There was something there that made staring those eyes that were so rarely seen half painful but at the same time so blissful that he just couldn't help it. Sure he had seen the lieutenants eyes before, and considered them absolutely captivating before mentally smacking himself for thinking something like that, but now he didn't find the words to describe what he saw.

What the hell was he doing here? He pushed the thought away from his mind as the magnetism of the hazel eyes proofed stronger. His hand released its grip from the shoulder of the other man and crept towards the hem of the balaclava. Touch of calloused fingers brushing his bare chest made the hazel eyed man inhale sharply and without realizing he leaned into the touch.

Never breaking eye contact the captain slid his hand under the skeleton balaclava to cup the face before him properly. He was suddenly so lost in the moment that all hesitations had vanished. As he softly stroked the bottom lip underneath the balaclava with his thumb and the hazel gaze intensified so much that the older man felt like was being slowly burnt.

A soft and highly uncharacteristic whimper fell from the younger man's lips. The captains blue eyes and the surprisingly gentle touch held something from past lives. He wasn't the one for any sympathy, not before, but after... After closeness or warmth was something he denied all together, especially from a source like this. Tonight, he was too tired to fight it, fight himself or anything, for that matter. It wasn't until the movement in the corner of his eye that he managed to tear his eyes off the blue ones.

The tensing of the body next to his brought the captain back to reality. Instantly he pulled his hand back and distanced himself for the other man. Meat and Scarecrow had appeared, curious enough about what was happening to leave their watch duty.

'You're dismissed,' he spoke, barely turning his head towards the curious nosey duo, behind them.

As the he pondered on what the hell had just happened Ghost spoke up for the first time.

'I'm sorry for-', silent voice pleaded but was cut off by the man himself.

'Doesn't matter. Let's just get you inside already' the mohawked man spoke gripping the younger man's broad shoulder, half guiding, half dragging the exhausted barefooted man towards his quarters. The Captain shot a glare at the men on watch, who barely took any notice of his command. They'd be feeling it by the next training, as it was none of their business, anyway.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light. _

_ -Helen Keller_

It took time to drag the man back indoors. He had no trouble dealing with heavy weights or carrying a wounded soldier on the field. It was just that he was somewhere in his thoughts so deep. Finally, managing to sit the younger man down on his bed, he took a good look on the other. The lieutenant looked just as he was ought to, physically powerful and indestructible, a razor sharp killing machine. Yet no such man existed who wouldn't crumble and fall. Strength, the captain had come to think, had little to do with physical endurance.

Ghost sat on the bed shivering violently teeth clattering hard when the captain managed back from his stray thoughts. Judging by the whiteness in the lieutenant's digits, he was beyond any help a shot of whiskey could do. The captain ran the warm water in his cramped makeshift bathroom before returning to his mate.

'Come on, you're going to shower, now.' It was an order.

The lieutenant rose, stumbling enough for the captain to notice so he quickly supported the exhausted, hypothermic man towards the shower.

'You got it from here, right?' he asked once they were standing at the doorway. The man barely nodded before disappearing in the bathroom.

_Somewhere in Iraq 2012, base infirmary _

_He stared at the motionless lump sprawled out on the field bed. The beeping sound of machines always drove him both nervous and worried. He wasn't sure which was worse. To stay true, he wasn't even sure why he was there in the first place. If anything, he hated hospitals. For some reason unknown though, he was too restless to concentrate anything, not to even mention sleeping. The briefing for the next op was in the morning and he should've been fast asleep and gathering the much needed energy elsewhere. _

_The lump made no movement as he stealthily crept closer, knowing it was insane to be there at that hour. He winced slightly, noticing it barely even breathed. IVs were hanging from hooks attached to the bed and disappearing under the sorry excuse of a blanket. He made sure to avoid accidentally hitting any of the tubes or machines as he reached the bedside. The lump was a man. A man who he had half carried, half dragged through the bullet storm back to LZ point. A man that wouldn't even have gotten hit if he had paid attention. False sense of immortality had played it's tricks on him. The bullet they had to dig out of the lump of a man's chest would've been placed in between his eyes if the now wounded wouldn't have pushed him out of the line of fire. He would've deserved that bullet, if not for anything else then for the bad example he had been to his men. And maybe somewhere really deep inside he would've wanted that bullet, just to get away from everything._

_'What fuck are you doing here, Soap?' he turned to face the owner of the voice that had scared him shitless, only to come face to face with his commanding officer. He didn't answer, it was obvious after all._

_'Mate?'_

_'What does it look like, sir?' _

_'Riley will be fine. The bullet did no harm, it's just the blood loss' . _

_'I owe him my life, Price'. _

_'You owe me your life.'_

_'I made a stupid, bloody idiotic, mistake. He could've died because of it. That bullet was for me'. He blurted, without taking any notice on the older captain's words. _

_'That's life round here. Every one makes mistakes, Soap'._

_'I don't'._

_'Look, you shouldn't be here. What can I do to get you out of here?' Silence ensued when the younger captain didn't answer immediately. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. _

_'Why are you here, Price?' he asked in return, not really curious, since he already knew the answer in his bones._

_'The same reason that you'. _

_'No', he turned to face the captain again, ' he didn't save _your _life. You've got his file and you don't think he's fit for your standards'._

_'You think you know him? I'm the one who's read the file.'_

_'He's a good soldier, and you just can't get rid of him, no matter where you send him.'_

_'He's better fit for a mental institute than here. A faggot and a murderer!' Riley hadn't exactly spoken about it. Yet it didn't come as a surprise to him._

_'And you're not? You came here to finish him!' _

_'Johnny-'_

_'No. Go find someone else to suck your dick'._

_'You can't avoid me forever'. The older captain stated simply, the arrogant smirk on his face almost audible, turning to leave as Mactavish made his mission impossible to execute. _

_'And one more thing, Price, I swear to god, if you lay a hand on him...'. _

_Cold, merciless laughter mixed with fleeing footsteps behind him._

_He turned back towards Riley. It felt wrong to be watching him this way when he wasn't wearing the balaclava. Seeing the younger man like this, vulnerable and innocent made him wonder. The comrade he knew, had saved his life earlier during that op gone wrong. Then again, he was forced to think of the last time they had to torture a prisoner for intel... Riley had laughed throughout it while he had vomited his lunch out at the sight, questioning his comrade's sanity. Yet he was here, watching over Riley and wondering what the hell had made him so twisted._

_After searching for it a moment, he found the lieutenants hand, and decided to hold on to it, further thoughts be damned._

_Whether it was for his own comfort or the lieutenant's, he didn't know. _

_Price had called Riley a fag. He wasn't sure whether the older man had meant it literally or only as an insult. What Riley was didn't matter to him that much anyway. Price was calling the kettle black, after all the older captain himself had changed. Why Price had chosen to address him with the less than professional commands, he couldn't tell. Rebellion didn't come to question, not if he wanted to keep his job anyway. The thought of nine to five job in a cubicle... well, he'd rather eat his pride here when Price commanded so, than eat his pride for the rest of his life, every goddamn day. _

_'Look, Ghost, I... ' he hesitated, opting to voice his thoughts anyway, 'The only reason I'm alive is because you chose to save me. You know I don't forget things like that'. He paused wondering if the other man could hear, 'I promise he ain't gonna get to you'. _

_He let go of his saviors hand only to grab a near by chair and pull it beside the younger man's bed. Somewhere along the following hours he had fallen asleep only to wake up his hand still holding the lieutenant's._

It wasn't until the soothing cascade of water started to turn cool that he realized he forgotten all about the reality and wasted gallons of fresh water they had a limited supply of. He ran a hand through the wet mass of his hair, still feeling on the edge.

'Hey, mate, you still alive, eh?' Mactavish asked from outside the bathroom, obviously worried.

'Aye,' he spoke softly face buried somewhere in the towel he found that smelled unmistakably like the Scot.

The Scot sighed, he could've been trying to talk to a wall. The walls, after all, were much more of conversationalists than Riley.

'Thank you,' the younger man whispered through the door.

'No worries, mate'. While he fished out something to wear for Ghost, the man wandered out from the bathroom, looking lost. It wasn't exactly a difficult task since the selection of clothes was limited and neither did it take long, but once he came up with the clothes, Riley was already fast asleep on his bunk. He sighed as he watched the towel clothed man's chest rise and fall steady.

Most of the men feared Ghost. And sure enough he had too years ago when Ghost was just another FNG and he had accidentally stumbled across the lieutenant debating on torture methods. The mere thought was enough to cause shivers. Yet somewhere along the line in between his authority issues, all of Riley's issues and the never ending insults they exchanged, he had developed a liking to the man. No one else was more worth of his trust than the man sleeping on his bunk.

Carefully he tugged most of Riley under the covers.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable. _

_-James A. Garfield_

A familiar but unknown scent brought him out of the pleasant dream that had occupied all his senses only moments ago. It was more comfortable any bed he had been in a long time. The warmth surrounding him felt so good against the chilly air he sensed dwelling the room. A yawn forced it's way out of his mouth and finally he started to come around. Blinking his eyes slowly open he could instantly tell that this wasn't were he should've waked up. A loud snore, rumbling deep from somewhere close forced the shameful conclusion: he was in some one else's bunk.

The snore didn't falter when he dragged his sore muscles into sitting position. Mactavish was sitting on floor, head lolling passively against the side of bunk. Empty whiskey bottle, still in the captain's death grip, told him all he needed to know.

_Somewhere in Iraq 2012, base infirmary._

_He was half oblivious to his surroundings. Deeply medicated brain of his just wouldn't serve him the way it usually did. The reality was blurry and positively confusing. He wasn't exactly sure where the world ended and where his mind began. There were no pains. Only it all was so bloody confusing. But most of all he was weak, so darn weak that opening his eyes was a task almost impossible to execute. _

_The last thing he remembered was the face of the hostile whose aim he couldn't sabotage. Things went black after the split second decision he made to push John the hell away from the line of fire._

_At some point, he wasn't sure whether in a dream or reality, he heard voices. They were familiar but he wasn't enough around to recognize them. It wasn't a good chat, that, he could tell. It was getting worse by the minute and he tried to regain consciousness as he heard the voices turn into yells. Eventually all fell silent. Then someone was right there, too close. He couldn't have done anything if they decided to go for a kill. Briefly his thoughts flew all the way back to Mexico when he couldn't fight back Roba... until a hand closed around his. Even in his haze, instinct told him this wasn't anything worth fearing for. He settled to the pleasant feeling of being anchored to reality. It took him a while to recognize the person holding his hand as Mactavish. _

_'Look, Ghost, I... The only reason I'm alive is because you chose to save me. You know I don't forget things like that. I promise he ain't gonna get to you'. _

_He wasn't sure whether the words were a fantasy that his drugged mind created or if Mactavish was really there and meant what he said._

_When days later he woke up and was instantly called for a debrief, he still didn't know if Mactavish had been there or what he had said was real. And even if it all was real, which he doubted, any sense the words had made in his drugged mind was long gone. _

_Yet, for some reason he clung to those dreamy words like a security blanket._

The foggy memories of earlier started finally leaking into his consciousness like a dripping faucet. He had either dreamed and sleepwalked or hallucinated. He had been under attack of Sparks, then Roba and then finally mocked by his father. He couldn't tell if he had ever before been so ready to give up. Out of nowhere Mactavish had appeared, forced him back to reality.

Knowing that John probably didn't mind about the night before, did little to ease his self-loathe. The blonde in the worn photograph on Mactavish's nightstand was beautiful. She also had a the kind of look in her eyes that a jealous woman has, piercing him with it, right through. The glaring contest in between him and the blonde had been on ever since he started to see John as a friend. Only the themes he found the hostility emerging varied. This time it seemed that her gaze held more accusations than ever. She never stopped forcing confessions out of him.

He was in the 141 for wrong reasons, had been from the start, there was no way around admitting it. If he were any less a manipulator and a strategic, he wouldn't have even passed the shrinks' questioning. At first it was about escaping the past and keeping his sanity, then making himself worthwhile somewhere. Finally, it was all about the last person he really had left; the last bits of trust he held and the last comfort he knew. He never was there for anything career related, as he was ought to. And as for now, no excuse could keep him from getting discharged. He sighed, clumsily untangling himself from the feeble blanket. It was way past the time for him to leave, better for everyone, anyway.

Noticing the pile of clothing, he picked it up, and padded barefooted to the bathroom.

The captain stirred. He was groggy from sleep but could tell Ghost wasn't there anymore. Not at least in bed. He could feel the sleep and hangover pulling him back into sweet slumber. He definitely wasn't ready to wake yet. The fact that Ghost had left the bunk and something else, too, was forcing him back to awareness; it was Ghost's voice, which could only mean more hallucinations. Was there no end for the lieutenant's madness?

Scanning the surroundings to spot the other man and finding the younger Brit nowhere to be seen, he paused to truly listen.

The man, now definitely located in the bathroom, wasn't crying or killing anyone, but goddamn it, _moaning. _Moaning in his bathroom.

Silently, as if hiding, he sank back to his spot.

As the soft moans and groans became more audible, the lieutenant's attempts of trying to silence himself going in vain. He could only listen and play sleeping, as the options of escaping were limited. He really, truly didn't need to hear that, it even disgusted him slightly. By obeying his sleep deprivation, he could easily ignore Ghost's voice and sank back to that deep slumber...the thing just was that suddenly he didn't _want_ to.

Eyes screwed tightly shut he listened somewhat amazed. Eyelids screwed shut so tight that abstract shapes danced across his vision, he tried to relax. After all, the last thing he wanted was to get caught listening. He idly wondered what was it, that turned the other man on so much that half of the Persian gulf could probably hear.

_'John...'_, a deep rumble of the other man's moan echoed from the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame. _

_-Benjamin Franklin _

He stared in the mirror. The scar that ran along his features was as red and raw as always. Leaning on the sink, he shook his head the reflection. Sometimes he wondered who the hell the man that stalked him from the mirror was.

He was lost in thought when the door of the common bathrooms opened behind him.

'There you are!' The accent still managed to make him sick, yet man behind the words didn't. It was unmistakably Roach.

'Look dude, are you okay? I heard about last night...' the young sergeant spoke quietly.

'I'm fine, Roach,' the unmasked lieutenant said, nodding at the sergeant though the mirror.

'If you want to talk about it...' the younger man drifted off noticing the glare his lieutenant shot him thorough the mirror and quickly changed the subject, 'anyway, Price wants everyone for briefing.'

'I'll be there,' the lieutenant stated. The sergeant was already leaving when he finally summoned up all the humanity left in him and continued: '...and Roach, thank you for the offering. I might take up on that one day'. A small, but genuine smile briefly lighted his scarred face. Roach flashed him a smile before nodding and disappearing from the doorway. The kid reminded him of a younger version of himself, fresh SAS sergeant, with almost zero care in the world.

Ghost sighed heavily, giving one last angry look at his reflection, before heading for a briefing for a mission he doubted he would be attending to.

It was a game of staring. Battle of wills, if you may. Only noise in the room being the clock, ticking carelessly and sensing none of years worth of built up hate and maliciousness.

There was no question why had Price called him in for a meeting before the briefing. The two of them had been through the conversation numerous times before. Previous times he had had the advantage but now Price held all the cards. The man had evidence, surveillance footage from north side of the base.

No talk could deny what was on the hardware that lied in between them on Price's desk. Nothing could possibly bargain Riley out of it.

'For this mission, we need him. But after...' the sound of victory laced the words.

He kept his expression blank, though the mixture of betrayal and other emotions he had no name for begged to be shown. The furious heartbeat against his ribcage became audible at the self-satisfied expression on the captain's face.

'...you precious _Riley_ will head home.'

He was up faster he could ever remember being and banged Price's office door behind him shut with a force enough to drop the clock from the wall. The front glass of the clock wasn't the only thing shattered on the floor.

Bitter smell the last shards of friendship contaminated the air.

_Commander's office, Task Force 141 base, Early 2011_

_'He's got a history, Soap' _

_'Who hasn't?'_

_'Not a good one, either. Says it's not his responsibility to tend to fallen comrade'._

_'Doesn't matter as long as he's a good soldier'._

_'Riley's a competent psycho, Soap. All about him is classified. Rumors though...'_

_'I'm keeping him,' there was a trace of rebelling in his actions. As a kid, he never brought injured kittens home and as sure as hell this wasn't the place and time to start, either. Then again bringing snakes just to spite his old man was a bit different._

_'Then you're meeting me here at 2300 hours, captain,' the older man commanded from behind his turned back. It was all about establishing a dominance and authority._

_He slammed the office door shut behind him, only to find the FNG waiting in the corridor._

_'You're coming with me, FNG,' he commanded without bothering to even look at the man, 'and that chip on your shoulder needs to go.'_

_'Aye.' _

_'Aye, what?' he turned to look at FNG hidden behind a skeleton pattern balaclava, idly wondering if Price had had a point. Potentially unreliable men was the last thing the 141 needed-_

_'Aye, _sir_.' the FNG sighed._

_'You got a call sing back in SAS?' He asked, briefly noting that taking Price's actions out on the new guy was probably not the best possible starting point._

_'Ghost,' a pause before hesitant 'sir'._

_'What the hell kind of a name is Ghost?'_

_'Name for a man like me, sir'._

_'Whatever, FNG,' he huffed._

_'Would a shot whiskey stop you callin' me that, _sir_?' the new guy spoke, arrogantly, seeking for a common ground. He liked this one, not that he'd ever admit it. Was this what Price saw in him when he was but a sergeant? _

_'Bribery, already? And what did I tell you about the chip?' _

_'It's Scottish, sir.'_

_'You got a good taste, _mate_, gotta give you that.'_

_He was rewarded with a snicker._

Everyone seemed on the edge. The hassle held a slight sense of fear. Somewhere in the background, he could make up Roach and Worm speculating about the name of the operation. Indeed, the tactical screen read Kingfish. Where as the name held no deeper meaning to him, the edgy feeling among the men did. By experience, that was a bad sign.

He seated himself wordlessly beside Simon feeling the lieutenant casting a sideway glances at him every now an then.

'Alright, gentlemen, let's get on with this. As you've noticed, Delta Force will be joining us on this mission', the general started indicating Frost and Sandman and effectively snapping everyone else's attention back to the task at hand.

'As you've heard the recently cracked intel has revealed a possible location of Makarov's safehouse. This means you are raiding an ultranationalists' base in Ukraine.'

The sudden skip of breath beside him wasn't a surprise. In fact, it merely told him that Ghost disagreed with the way this was going as much a he himself did. Raiding a fully occupied base in Ukraine was sounded awfully lot like suicide. The variables were countless and handling a situation like that was, well... The only word that he could describe it was catastrophic.

The rest of it he didn't bother to listen. No way in hell, were they ever going to come out of it alive and follow through the plan with precision. Focusing on keeping his whiskey and realization built nausea in check was more than enough for the time being.

'Captain, anything to add?' He vaguely heard Price inquire.

'We're clear', he answered, coldly.

'Alright, gentleman, sleep, prepare- and good luck,' Shepard stated, 'you're dismissed'.

The Englishman was quick to stride out in avoidance. He would have to do telling eventually, not to even mention of having to handle an op with both Price _and_ Riley on the team. It seemed as if everyone wanted something of him where as he wanted mainly to sleep, get drunk again, and most importantly, forget _everything_. Obviously something had to give. It didn't take an einstein to figure out that winning in the lottery was more plausible than him getting any rest from-

'Hey sir!' He turned away. Sanderson.

'Yeah, Roach?' Goddamn it, was he annoyed.

'What's up with Ghost?' and when he refused to answer or look at the sergeant, 'What's up with you? Sir?'

'Just tired, is all. Whatcha mean what's up with Ghost?'

'Dunno. Heard about last night. Besides, I found him in toilet, trying to stare cracks into mirrors.'

'How am I supposed to know?' He sighed, facing the ever so observant American.

'You're fucking hangover!' Roach exclaimed once he met the Scots blood shot eyes. 'Besides, you're supposed to know what's up with your men!'

'I'm not his fucking mother and as far as I know your not my commander either.'

'You're his friend. He's not okay.'

'And you aren't? I'm not any of your fucking mother.' What an arrogant prat for a subordinate.

'Just sayin', man.'

'How 'bout not. Mind your own business, sergeant,' he spat, walking away.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_While there's life, there's hope. _

_-Cicero_

The hard part wasn't determining where to find Riley, but what to say to him. How can one tell someone the career that made up their whole adult life is about to end? He couldn't tell. Being military trained taught you all sorts of skills, in and out of combat, but only hard work and even harder training could take you to the top.

Trouble is, combining civilian life with being on the top of military food chain isn't easy. What he always lacked, was personal life and skills to interact out of uniform. Meeting and getting to know new people was what he did well. Keeping them around longer than one night, not so much.

Lighting cigarette he set his course towards the shooting range without much of a plan.

* * *

The ACR couldn't have been cleaner inside out. It didn't stop him from cleaning it once again, though.

It was really a pre mission thing, making him useful and releasing the anxious tension at the same time. There was something about disassembling the gun, cleansing it part by part and then reassembling, and sometimes, the worst times, repeating. It was the routine, he supposed, the few safe and familiar things they were allowed to have in the middle of a war against terror.

In the middle of cleansing the insides of an ACR barrel, he could tell he wasn't alone anymore. The thick smell of nicotine was enough information for recognition.

'You can rub it for the rest of your life and no genie will come out,' the smoke hazed voice spoke.

In another place and time, he would've turned it into a joke suitable for his dirty sense of humor. As for the time being, it wasn't enough to catch his attention in the slightest. As much as the obsessive cleansing of a gun was an army drill he couldn't shake, it was better as a method of hiding from all too knowing gazes. He kept the barrel in his hands and continued the polishing.

It was a good five minutes and another cigarette in chain before the Scot standing in an awkward manner beside the bench he was sitting on spoke again.

'How many times you've done that now?'

'Twice,' he admitted rubbing his maskless face in frustration and shoving his inner demons that threatened to rise deep in where they belonged.

The Scot took seat beside him, evacuating the barrel from his lap and silently starting to reassembly the weapon once more. He watched in silence as the calloused, powerful hands worked on the pieces of metal with astonishing nimbleness. There was no denying of the low, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was by sheer willpower when he finally managed to tear his eyes of the sight and glue his gaze onto the tips of his combat boots instead.

'It isn't the end of the world, mate. Besides, Price's letting you in on this one and maybe if there's some intel they can't crack-' the captain started knowing the reason behind his mood.

'Price? What happened to Shepard's command?' Price was but a captain, not even a good one if he was to judge.

'He's not in on this,' the older man paused briefly to screw the barrel back on place, 'Price's got a personal vendetta.'

Now he was listening, and careful at that. It wasn't the first time they touched the subject, but never had he gotten an answer to satisfy his curiosity. What ever was in the air between the two captains had haunted him ever since the day he became a lieutenant of 141.

_Task Force 141 current base, Early 2011_

_'...scotch, you say?'_

_'The good stuff,' he said grinning and twisting the cap open before handing the glass bottle to his commander. He watched the mohawked man down a good fifth of the whole bottle at once before grimacing at the after burn._

_'The good stuff,' the man agreed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before handing the bottle back to the newbie._

_He watched the display in awe, trying to comprehend this man was his co, after all. _

_'Can I ask you a question FN-... mate?' _

_'Sure, cap,' he spoke finally finding his voice, noting the effort the older man was making._

_'How the hell SAS let you go?'_

_'What'd you mean?' _

_'Well, you beat my time in the Pit. You can hack any computer. You're too competent to be given away just like that. What did you do?'_

_'How's that any of your business?' He felt attacked._

_'Just asking, mate. Heard you had a history, that's all. And frankly, I like to know my men', He evaluated the captain from the cover of his mask long enough to make the man uncomfortable. _

_'Not like you have to tell me,' the captain continued after the silence turned heavy and pressing. _

_'Didn't disobey orders in the SAS if that's what you're asking. Just some shit mission in Mexico. Came back a year later. Found the past still following. Was in the news, with this all over,' he spoke indicating his face._

_'I see,' the older man spoke slowly, 'Price mentioned something of the sort. It's nothing to be ashamed of.'_

_He had to take a drink to drown the memories. Gulping the scotch down, a question popped up in his head, 'Speaking of Price, what's with the two of you?' _

_He watched the masculine captain shiver visibly next to him. Offering the bottle to the other, he wondered if it was considered intruding._

_'Authority issues. Don't ask', the man spoke after having taken another long drag from the bottle. It was scary awkward suddenly. 'Besides, I gotta catch up some paperwork', the captain spoke rising._

_'So you get to ask questions but I don't? That part of the chip on my shoulder too? Or is it just you who can't let anyone in?'_

_The captain sighed, looking uncomfortable rather than irked. He could tell he hit a soft spot._

_'It's getting late, lieutenant'._

_He walked past the captain but stayed close enough in the corridor to see if the officer really did have paperwork. It wasn't long when the captain exited the room. Picking his way in the dark corridors, he followed his commanding officer from one corner away. It was there and there he managed to take cover in time when he heard the captain's steps come to halt._

_The knocking on a door was quiet, close to inaudible. He didn't have what it took take a peak at captain from the cover provided by a shady corner._

_'You're late.' He heard a lower voice acclaim._

_'Not much, _sir_', the voice belonged to Mactavish, unmistakably. The tone of backtalk shocked him._

_'Get inside and I'll teach you the lesson you've been asking for,' he strained his ears to hear sound of rustling before the door slammed shut._

_When no further noise was emitted, he abandoned cover. Lost in thought, he wandered around in the still unfamiliar base before ending up in his quarters in the morning hours, with only the scotch to keep company. _

It was worth cocking an eyebrow, so he did, aiming it at his companion who was finishing the ACR with red dot sight.

The man set the clean and polished gun down, never meeting his questioning gaze. What longer it seemed to take for Mactavish to organize words into speech the more worried he grew. The man had had three long years to open up, but he chose the last moment. He was caught wondering why did the Scot even bother with it now that he was leaving-

'Price has a vendetta ... against me.'

He was about to ask why was Price overstepping his authorities just to get rid of him if the vendetta was against John. Something must have alerted the said man of his puzzlement, since the explanation came before he had time to ask for it.

'Something happened before the 141. He still holds me to it.' There was lengthy pause that he had no heart to interrupt, no matter how many questions waited for an answer.

'He lost someone back then. Could've saved them, I suppose, but executing the task was the priority. He hasn't been the same since.'

Sure, he had figured something of the sort could've happened in between the two. It didn't help his understanding any, though.

'Were they close?' He urged the captain to continue, suppressing the questions that really interested him.

'More than. Made me take his place, to pay for the loss. It worked for a while, until the 141 was founded and I had team of my own, until you came. You've always been a pain in his arse. You wouldn't believe the stunts he's pulled on me to get rid of you.'

It wasn't often when he was at loss of words. Rubbing his face, he tried to comprehend whether his leg was being pulled or if he really was neck deep in some sick triangle of revenge.

'Why?' he managed finally. Watching as the captain avoided his eyes, staring into the depths of the desert.

The captain sighed deep before answering.

'To get even. Make me lose someone I care about too.'

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the support and positive reviews. I never in a million years thought that anyone would get hooked on my story! Looks like I have to make some more time for writing. -A


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_ The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug._

-_Chris Hedges_

The poisonous smoke he inhaled was better than anything. They could make him go without rest or nutrition, but smoking he wouldn't quit. Why quit the only satisfactory thing he had? After all, if he stopped smoking, what fun was there left when joy of being able to order people around was diminished by guilt and life threatening combat proofed nothing but another dose, only fueling further his separation from normalcy and society outside zone of war.

Taking one last drag while admiring the tell tale glow in the horizon signaling morning. He dropped the fag to the heliport ground and stomped it out. Scratching the mohawk covering the top of his head, all thoughts absent, he stepped into the pave low. Combat clothed arms clutched guns and nervous tapping of foot against the pave low floor was the only sound. The men were ready, he could tell, that was if anyone could be ready for unknown. It seemed everyone was mentally going through future plans or whatever calmed them down.

Whatever was happening behind the signature mask and blood red tinted glasses, he couldn't tell. It irked him tremendously. He took seat facing the lieutenant, blatantly observing the younger man. Few groggy hours of sleep hadn't been nearly enough to clear his head after confessional monologue at the shooting range. And how could they? As much as it had been a confession, it had been nothing short of a realization.

Subtle kick of a combat boot hit shin, bringing him back to reality, from his loneliness and loss infused moment of self-pity. The red tinted glass hid the gaze he knew watching his every move and reading his thoughts like an open book. There was undoubtedly a display of worry behind the facade. It hadn't been his goal to beg for comfort but to offer it. Yet here, in front of everyone, it was the other way around. At the face of certain near death situations, he could not bring himself to care less.

He was numb all over, except for that one sore spot he couldn't quite pin point but that held the weight of tons on his chest.

'Gentlemen, 10 minutes,' he heard Nikolai through the speakers. It wasn't really the informative reminder of the Russian in the cockpit rather than the measured tell tale footsteps that told him this was it, another bloody insane op. The way he stiffened dripped venom as the combat boots came to halt and the devil himself seated right beside him.

As if everything would go back to what it once used to be.

* * *

_Manchester, Great Britain, 2010._

_He stood by the coffin. Most people had already said their farewell. Some were still there, giving him enough space to say his goodbyes in privacy. _

_He could hear them talk, how it was rare, for a military funeral to have an open casket. How he looked as he always had paler and more at peace maybe._

_It was true, though, it was rare to see the man like this. The soldier looked as if merely sleeping. While still alive, it had been his privilege, seeing him like this. Nights he had spend watching the other man sleep soundly beside him. Sometimes snoring so that he had to kick the man, waking him in process and the situation evolving into a wrestling match and sometimes, the most times, even more. _

_Now one was in eternal rest and one could find no rest. Where as Gaz slept soundly in a coffin, he spent his nights _and days_ dreaming of revenge._

_He led team, Gaz, outshining everyone else. He trusted no one more. Sure, his wife waited him back home, and as for now somewhere in the funeral home with other military wives. It was just that his wife hadn't been there, didn't want to know or understand, unlike Gaz did._

_She never waited around until his paperwork was done or knew without asking when his job proved too difficult for him to handle. She never could relate when he had lost good men. There wasn't a thing she knew about guilt, where as he knew little else about anything._

_He squeezed the tags in his hand in the pocket of his military suit. The grip held both thankfulness for everything and the sort of infinite longing only some, the lucky, had a chance to feel. He had toyed with idea of quitting or downshifting to desk duty but the hook adrenaline and the extreme lifestyle had on him proofed stronger. The addiction could never bow to hurt, no matter how great._

_Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a display of comfort. _

_'Look, old man, he ain't gonna wake up even if you wait around 'til doomsday.' It was the bloody bastard who valued mission before anything else and doomed something precious in to an early meeting with a maker, the Scottish moppet who knew nothing of years on the field, of feeling numb all the time and living for the sake of nothing. Yet the prat acted like he always knew better. _

_The moppet acted just like Gaz had, back when they were at Soap's age, and bloody fresh from SAS. The Scot even look little like Gaz, if it wasn't for that goddamn haircut._

_'C'mon, let's get out of here', Soap spoke quietly, guiding him out, with force._

_He sounded little like Gaz._

_And if he closed his eyes, it was like Gaz was there, joking and reassuring him at same time, forcing him to move it._

The way the younger captain stiffened instantly as he stepped inside the pave low and claimed his command just by a slight nod was everything he needed to know. Whatever issues Soap had with his absolute authority and life-long dept to pay for would be gone as soon as the third link would be gone. It was pure, liquid victory to feel the cold stare of the lieutenant. He couldn't help but check the victory cigar was in place at his combat vest's pocket. And it was. It always was.

And Goddamn it, would it taste good...

After tonight, he'd have to replace it with a new one. But only after the owner of the ridiculous skeleton grin and red tinted glare was sitting soundly in a plane. Maybe he'd allow himself a drink too. Gin, it would be since it was what they used to drink back then...

_They._

Sudden paranoia forced him to check the tags were still in his pocket. They were, as always. In fact they had been his number one equipment for such a long time, that his fingers read the carving as easy as one would read an open book. With every single traced word of dead man's name, he felt confidence and hate building further. When Riley's sissy arse would be back on English soil, Soap would find out the price of the madness of rebellion against him. But not today. One personal victory at time would feel better than any of the soft caresses Gaz used to give his old battle scars.

It wasn't until Riley's red tinted stare started to rape his silent confidence building that he had to let go of the dog tags in his pocket. It was none of the psycho's business anyway. Mere seconds later, the rotors above them took up speed in their spin, signaling take off.


End file.
